The car slowed to a stop in front of the building and Susan leaned forward slightly in her seat, peering through the window. One of the Devanchi holdings. Tall, imposing, the kind of building that reminded you exactly how much was at stake every single time you walked through those doors. Glass and steel stretching up into the morning sky like it had something to prove. She had left the office earlier than usual because of this meeting. All the board members in one place, which was rare enough on its own. These were busy people, important people, people who did not appreciate having their schedules rearranged. She needed to be present, sharp, in control. The kind of Susan they expected to walk through that door. Composed. Certain. Unshakeable. But then the call had come in. She was still in the car when her phone buzzed and the moment she heard the words she felt something loosen in her chest. The intruder had been caught. Just like that. After everything, after all the sleepless

Vanessa had called Sam three times. Three times, and every single one went to voicemail. Vanessa stood in the middle of her living room staring at the screen until it went dark, and then she set the phone down slowly, deliberately, the way you set something down when what you actually want to do is throw it. She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to stand here unraveling over a man who couldn't even be bothered to pick up. She grabbed her keys and her bag. Her mother needed her. That was the only thing that mattered right now. The drive to the hospital was too quiet, and that was the problem. Quiet meant her brain had room to wander, and her brain had no business wandering anywhere near the thoughts it kept trying to drag her toward. She turned the radio on, then off again two minutes later because even that felt like too much noise. She just drove, both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, trying very hard to think about absolutely nothing. It didn't work. She thought

The manager stopped a few feet from Vanessa, his smile practiced and unbothered. He held a tablet tucked under his arm, his demeanor suggesting he had dealt with dozens of people like Vanessa today—people who thought a suit and a title granted them immunity from hospital policy. ​"I’m Mr. Henderson, the administrator on duty," he said, his voice smooth. "I understand there’s an issue with the care of one of our patients, Veronica?" ​Vanessa didn't offer a polite smile in return. She didn't have the patience for it. "An issue? My mother has been begging for medical attention for hours, and your staff has done nothing but dismiss her. She’s in pain, she’s confused, and your nurses are acting like she’s a nuisance." ​Henderson glanced at the tablet, his expression remaining perfectly neutral. "I see. Let me pull up her chart and see what the attending physician has—" ​"I don't need a chart," Vanessa snapped, her frustration finally boiling over. "I need her moved. I need a specia